Page 47 of Seale the Deal

She even has a section labelled Ruger Aesthetic.

You did this in a week?

I process stress through organization.

You process stress through terrifying intensity, Ruger says.

And yet things get done. She flips to another page. Okay. We already accidentally told Beryl the colours, so we’re committed there. But if we’re doing an Alpine Harbor wedding, we should at least make it believable.

Isn’t believable just legally married? I ask weakly.

Not here it isn’t.

Watching Remi right now is honestly a little frightening.

She’s pacing the kitchen, scribbling, blowing her bangs out of her eyes like she’s truly planning a battle instead of a fake wedding designed to trick the town and immigration.

I think we need antlers, she says.

Ruger stares at her. Why?

For ambiance, she says, deadpan. Ruger shakes his head at her as she says, Because a Ruger Seale wedding would have antlers, obviously.

A Ruger Seale wedding would just have Ruger Seale showing up.

Remi ignores him and turns to another page.

We should approach the Cultural Center. They have those ridiculous oversized lanterns, she says. I heard a rumour… okay, I called Bonnie, and Drew is now running events there. And he and I had three-second sex when we were twenty, so he owes me.

Ruger makes a face, and I try to stifle a laugh. I’m not sure if she’s serious, but sign me up to be there when she tries to get a discount for that.

Remi flips another page. Oh! Soup’s cake is non-negotiable.

Who’s Soup? I ask.

You’ll meet him.

A non-answer if I ever heard one.

And we need to think about your dress, she continues, now looking directly at me. I’m thinking maybe winter romantic? Lace sleeves? Fur wrap?

My stomach drops.

Talking about a dress suddenly makes this feel too real. Wedding dresses are the pinnacle of the event. I had fully planned on showing up to a courthouse in a simple white dress I made forever ago while teaching myself how to draft vintage-style collars. It’s nothing spectacular. Just soft cotton with a silhouette inspired by old movies like Mary Poppins. It holds nothing to a real wedding dress designed and meticulously created. But it’s free, and with this giant production suddenly forming around me, free sounds like just the right price.

We should do a trip to Anchorage, Remi says, scribbling another note. The fabric selection alone would be worth it.

Ruger blinks slowly. I’m going to set the table outside.

He grabs plates and slips out through the back door.

Coward.

Rem, I say. I genuinely don’t think I can afford the wedding you’re planning.

Her expression softens. I already told you not to worry about that. She sets the notebook down. I can figure out the financial side of this and get kickbacks from around the town.

That makes my chest tighten worse. Everyone keeps giving, and I keep taking. Remi paid for more than half the immigration process, and now, apparently, the entire town is about to donate something to a fake wedding.